Meanwhile, in Aman
by Supreme-won
Summary: A series of mostly one-shots starring the Valar. Intended to be received as light humor, but some serious moments are thrown in.
1. The First Days

**A/N: This chapter hails from the book of Lost Tales Part 1, under "The Hiding of Valinor".**

The woes of the Noldor were temporarily forgotten, and the malice of Melkor seemed but a distant dream. Only the occasional shudder of the Earth proved he was at work on what Eru only knew, and the blackened mound where the Trees once flourished served as a reminder.

But today Manwë had little thought for that rebellious Vala, having spent most of it on him for the past ages he'd been under his care. The anguish of the Noldor did not reach him, either, because instead of being at his side, the violet, gossamer figure of Varda stood on the far side of the chamber, with her elbows resting on a window sill. She turned when she sensed Manwë's stare on her, and he met her eyes with a loving gaze.

Now with the sun lighting most of Arda, the sky was a lively blue, and Manwë watched in delight as the clouds passed over Taniquetil and let in rays through the wide stained-glass windows. He was at ease for the first time since the Noldor had departed from Valinor, and he settled back into his silver throne, his hands spread over the armrests and the sapphire rings on his fingers sparkling in the light.

But the peace was short-lived. An all-too familiar rapping came at the doors to the chamber, and after he granted permission to enter, they opened before Eönwë. The Maiarin herald was dressed all in white, save a blue sash encircling his waist and the same sapphire emblem sewn onto his chest and shoulders. His cape brushed the floor as he strode in, his long golden hair radiating like the sun.

When he stood upon the tiled mosaic in the center of the floor, he bowed his head. "Someone is here to speak with you, my lord."

"Someone" was a vague title, and the Vala tried to read Eönwë's face to know whom he meant. But the Maia hid nothing, and all he detected in his face was genuine surprise.

"I have_ them_ waiting outside the Máhanaxar," he added, communicating there was more than one visitor. "The Valar have already been summoned there to discuss the paths of the heavenly lamps. We may come and join them now."

Manwë nodded and rose from his seat, holding a hand out to Varda. "Let us go, my dear."

The spirits dwelling in Taniquetil stood against either side of the entrance hall, each bowing at the sight of Manwë and Varda. Eönwë smiled at them as he passed by, smoothing down his hair.

Upon reaching the bottom of the steep road leading down the mountain, the two Valar and their escorts stood on the hills overlooking the golden city of Valmar, and just before that, the ring of seats reserved for the Valar on occasions of council.

There on the green lawns danced the Eldar who had chosen to remain in the land of Aman. Manwë had observed with great sorrow that the Eldar had been most adversely affected by the exile of the Noldor, but despite all this, they put aside their troubles and greeted the couple with great mirth.

Manwë laughed when the Eldar set down a long tapestry for him to walk upon. As soon as Varda stepped on the rich fabric, many of the Elves bowed before her.

"Elentári, lady of light," they said in reverence.

"The stars radiate with joy when they shine on the beauty of the Eldar," she answered them.

The lord and lady of Aman entered the circle of gathered Valar. Manwë took his place at the head and Varda came to sit beside him. All the chairs were occupied except for the one belonging to Námo, who had not yet arrived.

Aulë sat on his right, and on his face Manwë could see no sign of anguish caused by the Noldor, for his industrial mind had already moved on to its newest creations. The smith thoughtfully stroked his bushy red beard, a clear indication that he was devising some invention.

Yavanna and Vána sat together, their faces turned away from the blackened mound where the Two Trees once stood. The two Valier were singing softly, Yavanna with her eyes closed and Vána placing a comforting hand on her arm.

Tulkas wore bracers on his wrists and was sweating profusely as he stomped towards his chair next to Aulë's, no doubt coming from a match of some sort.

Just then, the low neigh of a black horse announced another arrival. A cloud of shadow hovered above the steed and its rider. Wordlessly, Námo slid off its back and went to take his seat farthest from the circle. His horse joined Irmo's dapple-gray, and Oromë's white steed, Nahar, grazing in the plains of green grass.

Oromë polished the weapons in his belt while he waited, and beside him Nessa watched the prancing Elves with glee, her bare feet itching to get up and join in their dance. Ulmo alone was not restless, his expectant stare poised at Manwë. Only a few of the Maiar had come to watch, most of them from Taniquetil.

Once Manwë finished looking everyone over, Varda reached across and took his hand with a smile. As part of the introductory rites, Vána stood up and sang the first few verses of a song.

Before the onslaught of complaints against Tilion could begin, Eönwë entered the circle, leading three strange figures. He moved off to the side of the ring to let the Valar observe the visitors.

They appeared _old, _as only mortal men were intended to look. Each of the three men had a white beard: the first had the shortest, the second's slightly longer than his, and the third possessed the longest beard of all. They were dressed in plainclothes, with nothing extraordinary about their appearances. Most of the Ainur had not chosen such a semblance to wear, and Manwë could make no recognition.

But they bowed before the circle of Valar and seemed to know exactly who they were. Tulkas leaned his elbow over the edge of his chair and viewed the visitors under raised eyebrows.

All this was done in silence, for Manwë had the first word. "Who might you be? Certainly none of you reside in Valinor, for I know all who do."

"We are craftsmen," they answered simply. "I am Ranuin, here is Danuin, and there is Fanuin. If your lady and lordships are permitting, the three of us will offer up our services to begin a great undertaking that shall improve the efficiency of the new lights, sun and moon."

Manwë glanced at Aulë, hoping for an explanation, but the smith was just as confused as everyone else. Now the lord of Aman began to suspect this was some mischief of Melkor, not being content in only disturbing the peace of Valinor and destroying the Two Trees. He _had_ been unusually quiet as of late.

Tulkas seemed to be thinking the same thing, for a suspicious gleam came into his eye. "What is this really?"

"All will be made known, once we are given leave to begin our works," they answered cryptically.

The Vala of Sport glanced around the ring to see if anyone was falling for this.

Aulë had grown interested. He leaned forward in his chair, but Yavanna shared the suspicion of Tulkas, and she gave him a look that made the smith sit back at once.

"Benign works, or ill?" Manwë inquired.

"We don't know what that means," the old men said.

"Your offer is appreciated, but not needed. You may go back to Angb- oops, I mean wherever it is you come from," Tulkas told them.

Manwë studied the three figures critically. "All in favor, raise your hand," he instructed the members of the council.

Aulë reached back as if he were stretching, and then he put up his hand, so that it could have gone either way. Ossë sat under Ulmo, and he watched as the Vala hesitated to decide. Instantly the Maia's arm shot up. But a moment later, when Ulmo shrugged and lifted his arm, Ossë's went back down.

Námo raised his hand in favor. Nienna sat with her eyes closed, her lips moving to silent words as she thought. Irmo gazed off, blinking sleepily.

Eönwë started to take count, glancing up and then scribbling down names.

"Ok, that makes eight, including my lord and lady. Eight also, for those who oppose, including some of the Maiar."

"Eönwë," Manwë spoke up. "You get a vote."

"Oh." He blushed, trying not to let the pressure of being the deciding vote show on his face. "Then we have nine total for yes."

"Then it's decided. A room shall be set aside in Aulë's house for our guests, since they identify as craftsmen."

Aulë's face lit up and he instantly leapt to his feet. "Come with me! Make yourselves at home!" he eagerly invited them.

* * *

After the three men settled in, they went right to work. When 12 hours had passed, Danuin went out and announced he was finished with his work; and nothing was heard from them for 28 settings of the sun, when out came Ranuin, announcing that he too was finished; and even longer still was Fanuin in completion of his work, for he only emerged after many cycles of both the sun and moon.

After this had happened, and the Valar were still confused by the intentions of the three men, they called a meeting and summoned Danuin, Ranuin, and Fanuin. Before the latter arrived, the Valar spoke quietly among themselves.

"They are dwelling in your house, Aulë," Manwë said. "What is your impression? What are they working on?"

The smith scratched his head. "I don't know. They have never shown me their crafts."

Tulkas narrowed his eyes. "That is suspicious. I don't like it."

"They are very secretive," Varda agreed, "but I don't think we will learn anything if we attempt to spy on them. We should ask these questions directly."

"Varda is right," Manwë said. "We will question our guests as soon as they arrive."

But the old men seemed to know what the Valar were thinking. They did not wait for their hosts to inquire of them, and after bowing curtly before the members of the circle, they got right to the point.

"Now that our work is finished," Ranuin began, "we desire to reveal it to you. If the Valar will meet us on the Outer Sea, near to the Door of Night, they shall observe the product of our efforts."

A murmur rose from the circle of Valar, and disagreements began over whether to believe their offer. Only after Manwë assuaged the doubts of the wary and convinced the reluctant the old men should be allowed to finish what they labored so diligently for, did a serious discussion begin regarding who would meet the men outside the Door of Night.

"I will go, of course," Manwë volunteered. "Who will come with me? Ulmo?"

"Yes, certainly," Ulmo replied. "It is often I go to the Outer Sea."

Aulë raised his hand. "I will also accompany you, Manwë. I am eager to learn their crafts."

"And I will go!" Tulkas said. "You may have need of my protection."

For several seconds the remaining Valar sat in silence, until Irmo alone began to fidget. "I have a desire to see the western edge of this vast sea," the Vala of Dreams spoke up. "So I will come too."

The others turned in their chairs to regard him with surprise.

Manwë nodded. "What about you, Námo? Do you care to join us?"

The Vala of Doom smiled at his brother, as if he foresaw something Irmo did not. He laughed with a voice hollow of emotion. "No, thank you."

The silver-haired Vala narrowed his eyes suspiciously at him.

Thus, it was decided that Manwë, Tulkas, Aulë, and Irmo would meet the old men on the edge of the outer sea. The Valar arranged for a ship with the Teleri in Alqualondë on the morning they had planned for departure.

On the dawn of that appointed morning, the lord of Aman was accompanied by Varda, who walked beside him in a shimmering white gown that flowed past her ankles, a tiara of diamonds set within her dark locks, resembling stars in the night sky. Her attendants and Manwë's formed an entourage behind their lady and lord, escorting Manwë on his way to Alqualondë.

Eönwë stepped hurriedly after him, carrying provisions in both arms. "Perhaps my lord should not go and leave us defenseless, especially if these men are not whom they say."

Manwë turned around, smiling fondly at the Maia. "You are too suspicious, Eönwë- that makes us no better than Melkor."

Seagulls squawked and circled overhead, taking turns diving into the bay. When the company of Taniquetil arrived at the sand-covered shores, Tulkas, Aulë and Irmo were already standing by the ships, waiting. Tulkas was pulling on his arms to stretch them, and Irmo fought to keep his head from falling on his chest. Only Aulë looked to be fully awake and prepared.

"Why must we depart so early?" Irmo complained, wrapping the fine cloths of his robe tighter around himself.

"Don't you have some herb you can take?" Tulkas asked him, holding out a hand and wiggling his fingers expectantly. Irmo gave it a dismissive glance and shook his head.

The Teleri working on the ship came running down the ramp once the Valar entered the busy port. The Elves wore aprons over work tunics, their long hair tied out of exerted faces.

"All is ready, lords! This here is our finest vessel. You have our word that it will keep your travels smooth and yourselves secure while out at sea."

"We cannot thank you enough," Manwë told them graciously, shaking each of their hands. "Do not hesitate to ask anything of Valmar."

Aulë had gone ahead to inspect the boat in the shape of a swan. He felt over the painted wings, rubbing his hand where the wood had been chiseled off. He set one of his legs on the boat to test his weight. When that was satisfactory, he crouched on his knees to get a good view of the keel.

The shipwrights watched him with a confident smile. The chief among them Aulë came and set his hand upon. "An excellent specimen indeed!" he commended.

The smith gave the OK to Manwë, and the latter bid farewell to Varda. With Eönwë beside him, he climbed the ramp into the ship and brought down either foot on the polished deck. Then he turned and accepted the pouch of various goods, should he have need of them, that his Maia was offering. Eönwë gripped the Vala's hand tightly before pulling away with much reluctance. He bowed his head and stepped down the ramp to stand beside Varda on the shore.

Manwë sat at the prow, dressed all in white like a swan. Aulë boarded next, followed by Irmo and lastly by Tulkas. The latter gripped the sides when the boat wobbled. "Are we sure this is safe?"

"Yes," Aulë confirmed, slapping the starboard side. "She is seaworthy." He waved to the Teleri shipwrights with an appreciative grin.

"Tulkas, stop shaking the boat!" Irmo cried, his face beginning to turn pale.

"I don't know what to do!" he shouted back. "I've never been in one before!"

Manwë leaned over to observe a stream of bubbles on the surface of the sea. Ulmo's head soon appeared within a breaking wave, his turquoise eyes glancing over the ship's occupants. A second later Ossë joined him, bobbing on the water and holding to the stern.

"I will lead the way, and Ossë will steer you after me," the Vala of the Sea said, flashing his Maia a warning glance that seemed to say, "Don't mess up!" before submerging once again.

Ossë harrumphed in response. Nonetheless, he swam underneath the boat and created a swell to move it forward. Tulkas reached for the oars and got to work.

The farewell party on the dock called out well-wishes, and the Teleri threw flower garlands at the ship once it pulled out of port, leaving the Bay of Eldamar behind. Once they changed course, the inlet curved sharply away from view, the white boats and gathering crowds replaced by encircling cliffs. With Tulkas rowing, and Ossë driving the boat from its stern, the vessel journeyed swiftly over the waves of the Shadowy Sea towards the west.

Manwë's hair blew in the ocean breeze, but the rest of him remained motionless and serene as he viewed the Enchanted Isles emerging out of the mist. Irmo was slouched to the side, closing his eyes and looking unwell. Aulë sifted water through his hands, admiring the different colors reflecting under the sun and disappointed when the liquid escaped between his fingers.

Silver-colored fish leapt beside the boat on the white ocean spray. Sweet music reached their ears on a breeze going west. Aulë pointed to the approaching shores of Tol Eressëa. "Look! I did not know any of the Elves still remained on that isle?"

In the distance, Eldarin musicians sat cross-legged on the rocks, playing their pipes.

"That is a song the Teleri play!" Manwë recognized. "It must be an older composition than we originally supposed."

The island's white-sand beaches began to fill with Elves, consisting of their children and elders alike. They called out to the passing boat, jumping and moving their arms to attract the attention of the Valar. Some of the more adventurous waded up to their chests in the water to come near the craft.

Tulkas frowned. "Why are they calling Ossë's name?"

"No reason," the Maia quickly answered from the back.

The Valar stood and waved to the Elves, who cheered and clapped until the boat gradually drifted out of their sight. Even when the Isle was no longer visible, the singing voices of its inhabitants lingered on the wind at their backs for long afterward.

Some color had returned to Irmo's cheeks. He wordlessly pointed down at the waves. A group of sea turtles breached the surface, swimming along their wake. The Vala stretched out his hand and lightly grazed the top of their shells. On the other side of the boat, Aulë fell back with a startled laugh as a school of dolphins leapt out of the water one at a time, uttering squeaks and excited chirps before splashing back into the warm sea.

"How wonderful is Eru," Manwë said with a content smile.

Light raindrops sprinkled down from the sky. The puffy white clouds took on a grayish hue, and the ocean breeze blew colder on their faces. Thunder boomed somewhere close by.

"It seems a storm is brewing," the Vala observed with some worry. "Ossë-"

"Turbulence coming up!" Ossë warned, staring ahead with his clouded blue eyes.

Manwë broke out of his pose and whipped forward, gazing at the frothing waves rising to meet them. "Ossë! _No!_"

Usually the Vala's thunderous voice was enough to fill the rebellious Maia with sense, but today must have been one of his worse days with Ulmo. Manwë had little power here, after all.

The Maia's head ducked beneath the waves, leaving the Valar to face the oncoming waves alone.

Tulkas strained his muscles to combat the raging waters, and Manwë jumped down from the prow to shield himself. Aulë sat nervously in the middle, and Irmo had fainted on the deck. His body slid in between the benches with every tilting of the bow.

The boat slammed into the first wave, and the passengers jolted up as tons of sea water came crashing over their heads. Once it steadied, Aulë picked up Irmo and slung him over his shoulder as if the slender Vala weighed no more than a sack of wheat. He secured him with a rope, tying him to the mast to keep the other Vala from flying overboard. Then he grabbed a bucket from the supplies stashed at the stern end and began tirelessly scooping water out of the boat.

Manwë peeked out behind his cloak and stole a glimpse of the storming sea. "There's another!"

"There's several," Aulë warned, reaching up to lower the sails on account of the harsh winds. He hugged the ship's mast to keep it upright, lest the wind and waves cause it to splinter.

Fortunately, this time the ship rose over the wave before it could break, thanks to Tulkas's frantic rowing. The Valar raised their heads in relief, only to cry out again as the wave immediately following the last started to fold.

"OSSË!" Manwë's voice boomed, just before the boat went under.

* * *

Sunlight filtered through the receding storm clouds, shining into the eyes of the boat's passengers. They were soaked to the bone, chattering their teeth against the mild breeze.

Aulë was still pressed against the mast. He finally relaxed his grip to hobble stiffly over to untie Irmo, and he carefully laid him across a seat.

"Excellent craftsmanship," Aulë muttered, glancing around the intact ship.

Tulkas picked his head out of a puddle of water on the floor of the boat, gasping for air. He realized one of the two oars was missing, and he hurried to fish it out of the water.

Manwë stared glumly at his sopping-wet robes. He removed his hood and raised his head, squinting at the bright sun overhead.

The sea surrounding them was completely flat as far as the eye could see, giving no indication of the tumultuous storm they had battled mere moments ago. The clouds fled from the sky, headed east, leaving its blue color unblemished.

Ossë floated in front of the boat, almost as still as the water. His eyes widened fearfully, like the possibility that he might incur Manwë's wrath had never occurred to him.

"Look, lords! We're almost there!" he shouted, hoping to shift their focus.

Up ahead, a boat holding the three old men was bobbing patiently on the thin waters, waiting for them.

Beyond that, the sky was lit with a great multitude of colors, golds and reds and pinks and oranges, glowing bright against the dark clouds of dusk. The stars shed their pure white light from the dark blue and violet heavens directly over the sea.

"I wish the others could see this," Aulë sighed.

Between the boat of the old men and that of the Valar, Ulmo glowered at Ossë, who sank further into the depths to avoid his lord's glare. "I am so sorry, Manwë. I-" he started to apologize.

But the other Vala temporarily excused it, raising his hand to cut him off. "There will be time for retribution when we return to Valinor."

"It looks almost all of you made it," Fanuin greeted, his smile faltering into a look of concern when he noticed Irmo sprawled over the ship's side.

"Now we can reveal our handiwork to you!" Ranuin said excitedly. "Lord Manwë, open your hand."

With some uncertainty, and the eyes of the other Valar close upon him, Manwë brought out his hand.

"Lord Ulmo, the sun has come to set- try to send her through the Doors of Night," Danuin bid suddenly.

Sure enough, Arien in her flaming glory was descending to be taken by the Lord of the Sea. When he tried to receive her, however, he found that no matter how hard he pushed and strained, the golden vessel would not be moved.

Danuin set what felt like a heavy rope in Manwë's hand. "You may now have control over the movements of the sun."

The Vala closed his fingers over the invisible rope, and when he pulled, the sun flew back into Ulmo's arms, and when he cast it forward, she passed through the Doors of Night.

Now Ranuin came to place another rope in Manwë's hand. "You may control the path of the moon."

Lastly, Fanuin handed over his craftsmanship. "This one holds the most power, for with it you can control the interactions of the sun and the moon, and moreover, the passage of time. Therewith we present to you the day, the month, and the year."

Manwë held them all together in his palm. The ropes felt heavy, but it took very little of his strength to manipulate them. He clenched his hand tightly so they would not slip out.

He raised his head, a question forming on his lips. Yet the other sea craft had vanished, and with it the three old men. The open water around the single remaining boat was entirely vacant. The Valar sat quietly, listening to the creaking of their wooden boat bobbing up and down on the waves.

Tulkas and Aulë searched the faint evening light for some trace of them, but the Valar were left there alone, gazing in wonder at the night sky.


	2. The Hangover, Silmarillion edition

**Starring Tulkas and Irmo.**

Irmo did not want to answer the door. It was late afternoon in the gardens of Lórien, and he was feeling quite content and relaxed in his isolated chamber. The lights were never too bright, the noise never too loud, and the flowery fragrance carrying on the breeze sedated his mind. It was going to take a lot more to get him off his couch…

The knocking came again, much louder. He waited a little longer, but no one answered it. Irmo rolled his eyes and slid off the couch. His silver silk robes flowed elegantly behind him, making a soft rushing sound as they dragged on the floor. He opened the door of his halls and found himself face to face with Tulkas. The Vala wore his usual sporting gear and the knuckles of his fists wielded a metal covering. His blonde hair was pulled back in a bun. "Lórien! If it isn't my favorite Vala."

"That's Aulë," Irmo posited.

"Ah, yes – my second favorite."

"Again, that's Oromë."

"Well, you are on the list!"

"Can I get straight to the point and ask why you're at my door?" Irmo inquired.

"Have any of the …y'know… the good stuff?" Tulkas asked.

Irmo gazed past him at a dappled horse and rider some distance off in a field of medicinal plants. He mouthed "_Go!_" to the latter, and the rider gave Irmo a firm nod, fastening the saddle bags filled with potent herbs and galloping into the mist.

"No, I'm afraid we are out at the moment," he answered Tulkas.

"Drat! That is not the only reason I've come, however." The Vala of Sport appeared uncomfortable and awkward then, toeing the damp soil at his feet. "Aulë is always busy with his Noldorin apprentices, and Oromë is hosting an event for his huntsmen. Mandos is too antisocial, and Nienna is…well…"

Irmo blinked. "She's what? What were you going to say about my sister?"

"She's rather doleful. Which isn't a bad thing, of course, but hard for me to relate to. Anyway, even though we live in a time of great peace, nobody seems to want to have any fun anymore."

"Tragic."

"But I think _you_ are the most like me, at least out of the Fëanturi."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I can easily picture us wrestling together, participating in tournaments, laughing and drinking pints of ale until the break of dawn."

"I don't understand how we come from the same mind," Irmo muttered. "You see, Tulkas - how do I put this politely? – you and I are… opposites. I am sophisticated, abstract; you are brawny, and… physical. Getting along would be a challenge."

Tulkas grinned. "Did I ever mention that I love challenges? It was a challenge beating my record for the shortest time running across Valmar, but I've recently done just that."

"Right. Oh, what's that, Estë? Coming!" He gave Tulkas an apologetic look. "I'll be right back. The wife is calling."

The Valië had her back to Irmo, dipping vials into an enchanted pool in the posterior yard of the house. Her chestnut-colored hair was tied in a long braid, small blue flowers tucked into its wavy tresses. She lifted the folds of her gossamer gray gown as she climbed to her feet again.

"I did not call you, Irmo," she replied in that soothing voice of hers.

Irmo made his expression sad and sulky. "Please, Estë? Can't you just say you need my help stirring Silpion's pools, or that a great many Elves need me to ease their minds?"

Estë finished bottling up the vial of dream water. "Normally I would lie for you, Irmo, but I quite pity Tulkas. He must feel we have little use for him now that Melkor is imprisoned, and no one can keep up with his energy. Surely, my husband, you have some compassion in your heart for him."

Irmo frowned. "Perhaps, but I can't find it."

"You've spent far too much time lying about in your chamber and gazing into your dream pools."

"Because I _like_ it there!"

"How about this," she suggested in her soft, calming voice. "Think of Tulkas as one of the Eldar who often come wandering into the gardens of Lórien, seeking inner solace. How would you treat him?"

"Frankly, Estë, I would place him in your care. Its beyond my expertise."

"And unfortunately, I am busy today. As is everyone else in Aman except for _you_… and Tulkas."

Irmo threw his hands up with a groan. "Fine! I'll do it! But I won't enjoy a second of it."

The Vala of Dreams drew open the door of his hall and strolled down the sloping walkway into the gardens. Floating wisps of light guided those who dwelt within those shaded groves, and a purplish-blue wisp followed Irmo to the clearing where Tulkas waited, washed in soft lamplight. He was reading a signpost with directions through the myriad of mazes.

He turned in surprise when he sensed the garden's patron right behind him, clapping a hand to his chest. "You and Mandos prefer going about in stealth."

"Not everything has to be loudly announced," Irmo argued.

Tulkas just smiled. "Are you ready, then? Kiss the wife goodbye?"

Irmo put his hands at his hips, a thought occurring to him. "How _is_ Nessa? Is she busy today, too?"

Tulkas scratched his head and glanced down. "Yeah. She went to visit her brother … I won't see her for another week at least."

Irmo felt a smidgen of pity creep into his heart. "Nessa and Oromë are very close."

"Aye, they are." He perked up again. "What do you prefer, Lórien? Archery? Horse-riding? Racing? I have a stadium for each of those. Do you have any fine jewelry to bid?"

Irmo cringed inwardly at each of those suggestions. At least, he tried not to outwardly.

"I've won quite a few baubles from my victories against the Noldor. Necklaces, bracelets, silver cups," Tulkas bragged.

"Uh… let's start with something else," Irmo suggested.

"I love the way you think! We'll stop at the tavern in my halls and begin the gaming early, if you know what I mean…"

Irmo didn't know what he meant, and he didn't want to ask, either. He followed the Vala into the streets of Valmar and up to a multi-storied mansion, surrounded on all sides by gaming arenas. They entered the first gate and crossed a spacious courtyard into one of the buildings of the ground floor. The tavern was dim and smelled strongly of ales, occupied mostly by people of Tulkas, but also other locals of Valmar. Tulkas introduced Irmo to his barman, a Maia named Astarandë, who had his coppery hair tied out of his face and wore an apron atop a gold-trimmed tunic.

"We'll have the good stuff," Tulkas said with a wink. "We've had a great harvest this season," he told Irmo as an aside.

The barman returned with two goblets full of a sweet, reddish-tinged mead. Tulkas handed the second cup to Irmo. "Drink some of this, good for you. Like herbal tea."

"Is it really?" Irmo wondered. He thought it burned too much to be like tea, but it made him feel warm inside. And his mood lifted almost immediately. Why did Tulkas always want herbs from him, when he had his own potions that seemed just as effective?

"Astarandë! Bring more of this!" Irmo demanded.

"You heard the lord!" Tulkas yelled. "Let's get him another!"

The goblets of heavy mead kept coming, and the two Valar drained every cup set on their table. Irmo started swaying in his chair, and Tulkas set an arm on his shoulder to steady him. "You are my dearest friend, Lórien."

"Please, call me Irmo," the Vala slurred.

"Only if you call me Tulkas," he answered back.

They both fell into hysterics, pounding the table so hard that it almost caved in. Then Irmo looked up and down the tavern, covering his ears. "Who is playing that music so loud?"

"Hey! Enough with the harp!" Tulkas shouted over the noise. "My friend thinks it's too loud!"

"There isn't any music, lord," Astarandë answered.

Tulkas smiled at Irmo. "There you are, my friend. They have ceased playing."

"How can I still hear it? Oh well. Give me a lift, Tulkas," Irmo suddenly requested, and the other Vala knelt on the floor of the tavern and interlaced his fingers together to hoist him on top of the table. With nimble grace, he leapt off the wooden table and sprang onto the next, surprising the Ainur seated there. He danced around the room as the crowd burst into applause, chanting his name.

Tulkas began laughing so hard he fell out of his chair. The Maiar tending to the tables sprinted over to the bar to watch the spectacle. They broke open the extra stores of mead and filled Irmo's cup to his content. He skipped past the bar, slapping his hand against the outstretched palms of the Maiar who were calling to him.

When Tulkas and Irmo finally stumbled out of the tavern into the evening light, Tulkas's Maiar pressed up against the open windows to wave goodbye.

"Come back anytime, Lórien!" they shouted after him.

Just beyond the border of Valmar, in the wide and fertile pastures of Orome, several Teleri practiced archery in an open ring.

Tulkas elbow-nudged the other Vala. "Whaddaya say, Irmo? Are you up for a match?"

"Tulkas, when have I _ever_ declined such an invitation?"

"That's the spirit!" Tulkas laughed, slapping him on the back. He shook the hands of the Elven archers in their leather bracers and called to the fletcher, who was handing out equipment.

"Are my lords of sound mind?" the Elf asked cautiously.

"Ha ha! Even if drunk, I believe we still would win!" the Vala of Sport assured him.

The fletcher gave Tulkas a wary look, reluctantly retrieving two sets of bows and quivers for the Valar. Tulkas strung both bows and notched the first arrow for Irmo before joining him in the archery ring.

"On your marks!" the Teler archery master announced.

Arrows flew every which way, and the Elves ran for cover into the woods. Barrels of wine spilled their contents in the arena and the gaming posts knocked over one by one. Tulkas went and pulled a broken arrow shaft out of a flag, causing the fabric to rip in half.

"I didn't think you'd ever played, Irmo," Tulkas told him, sounding impressed.

"I hadn't," the Vala of Dreams confessed. "This would be the first time."

"Well, if you are this proficient in archery, you should try your luck at horse-riding. Let us go and look for Celegorm and Curufin by the stables – those Noldor are usually of mind to race at this time."

The racing course stretched for many miles over rolling green fields. Blue and white smudges marked the position of the Elven riders on their way back to the starting point, posting on sleek, well-bred horses. Celegorm and Curufin lifted a hand off the reins as the Valar approached.

"Care if we join?" Tulkas asked, adding a stack of gold bars to the prize table.

The Noldorin riders squinted at the Vala. "You do not ride any steeds, Tulkas."

"No, but my good friend here does," he said, taking Irmo under his arm. "We'll wager every piece of gold and silver on this table that he can best any one of you."

The Elves were surprised by the offer, but they did not immediately refuse. Celegorm and Curufin shared a glance, deciding whether they should accept.

"I have never seen Irmo race on a horse," Curufin told his brother. "We are sure to win."

"Very well," Celegorm answered. He turned to the two Valar. "We accept the bid."

"Excellent!" Tulkas grinned. "Now let's go get you saddled up," he told Irmo, steering him towards the horse the Elves had provided.

Slightly dizzy and rather uncoordinated, Irmo climbed on the mounting block and held up his long robes so he could sit straddling the horse. Tulkas handed him the reins and Irmo leaned back too far and almost slipped out of the stirrups.

The rest of the riders waited at the startling line. Celegorm rode up beside Irmo and brought his horse to a halt once they were shoulder to shoulder.

"Last chance to back out," the Noldo teased. "Oromë himself taught me how to ride."

Irmo looked across the pasture at Tulkas, who flashed him a thumbs-up from the audience. He turned back to Celegorm with a smug grin. "Your gold is going to look great on me."

Confusion flitted across the Noldo's face as the whistle blew. The line of horses took off at a strong gallop, but Irmo remained in place for another moment or so, staring at the other riders in the distance.

"It's only fair I give them a head start," the Vala murmured to himself. Behind him, the crowd of Elves whispered among themselves, wondering why he did not budge.

At last, the Vala urged on his horse and loped across the field. He leaned his weight forward and pressed his heels into the flank, letting the reins hang loose at the neck. One by one, the riders at the rear fell behind, and he zigzagged through the rest to tie with Celegorm in the lead.

The Noldo prince glanced over and narrowed his eyes at the Vala, pressing harder on his steed, but Irmo sped past him with ease. As he reached the finish line, the Vala's horse swerved off to the right, and he was thrown off, landing roughly in the grass. He rolled over on his back in a fit of laughter.

Tulkas ran the entire course in a minute and scooped up Irmo, hoisting him in the air for all to see. "Winner!" he cheered. "Winner! Winner! We have a winner!"

The Elves begrudgingly handed over all the valuables on the prize table. Tulkas adorned himself and Irmo with priceless chains and bracelets. "These golden goblets will perfectly suit my mantelpiece," he said, buffing the cups against the front of his shirt.

"We are on a winning streak," the Vala of Sport told Irmo. He set an arm around his shoulder. "What shall we do next, my friend?"

Irmo shielded his eyes from the waning rays of Laurelin. He pointed at something in the trees ahead. "Look, we have reached Yavanna's gardens."

"So many birds! Have these always been here?" Tulkas unlatched the bronze gate of an aviary and took out a golden-tailed hawk, letting the bird perch on his shoulder. "I'll leave a note for Lady Yavanna and let her know we're borrowing a few."

Irmo laughed. "Tulkas, you are going to get us into trouble!"

"I understand why she might need four…maybe five birds… but fifty? Seems a little excessive to me."

"You're right. That's too many." The Vala of Dreams allowed a red-breasted meadowlark to hop on his finger. "How beautiful this one is!"

Both Valar left the aviary gate open, and hundreds more came flying out, covering the sky in a variety of bright colors and outspread wings.

"…Uh-oh," they gulped.

"Hurry! We can catch them if we run!" Irmo urged Tulkas. The path took them back to Valmar, into the main courtyard, where a minstrel of Vána leaned against a gushing fountain, plucking a lyre and singing for the Vanyarin and Maiarin passersby.

Tulkas paused in the center of the courtyard. "I've already forgotten what we were doing." His attention was captured by the music of the minstrel. "Irmo, isn't this your favorite song?"

"No, not this one," the other Vala answered. "I'll play it for you." He approached the minstrel and held out his hands. "May I?"

The Maia instantly stood and bowed, offering the lyre to him. "Of course, Lord Irmo. It would be an honor."

Irmo took a seat and propped the instrument in his lap. He spread his hand over the strings and began to play, his fingers expertly hitting each note. He sang a song of wild gardens, of lofty mists on mountains steep, of the silver pools that fed Silpion's unfaltering light.

Tulkas stood back and crossed his arms, bobbing his head while he listened. "I did not know you could play so well, Irmo."

"There is much you do not know about me," he replied between verse.

A crowd had begun to congregate around the Vala, awed by his music. The Vanyar and Maiar in the audience sang along in chorus to the words of his song.

Irmo climbed the wall of the fountain and raised the lyre to his chest. "This next one is for Tulkas, my dearest of friends!" he announced.

The audience cheered him on, eager for the Vala to keep playing. Tulkas waved away some of the applause in a show of humility. As Irmo delicately strummed the instrument, two of Yavanna's birds of golden plume swooped down to perch on his shoulders.

"Hmm," Tulkas murmured thoughtfully. "I wonder where those came from?"

The crowd threw flowers at Irmo as he bowed several times, once in each direction. "Thank you, thank you! You have been a most lovely audience." The Vala hopped down from the fountain and handed the lyre back to its owner.

"How did you get those birds to come to you?" Tulkas asked him.

Irmo shrugged. "I do not know. Here, I shall release them." He lifted both arms to prompt the birds to fly, and they encircled the Vala before rising into the night sky.

Tulkas snapped his fingers. "You know what we're forgetting?"

Irmo's eyes flashed eagerly. "What?"

"Fireworks!" The Vala of Sport started rummaging through the cartons on the edge of the plaza. "I know I've seen some… I helped Aulë package an entire set just the other day…"

Irmo trailed after, trying to keep from tripping over his own feet. "Did you find any?"

"No, but I found barrels of ale!" he called back excitedly. He rolled a barrel towards Irmo and handed him one of the two golden goblets. "Go ahead, help yourself."

As Irmo tipped back his head and drank the foamy beverage, Tulkas opened another carton and shouted "AH-HA! I've found them!" He set the explosives in a row on the ground and motioned to Irmo. "Hand me a light, will you?"

The Vala of Dreams bent and took a branch covered in sparking embers from a brazier, passed it to Tulkas. The latter waved the smoke against the wick sticking out from the firework, and a second later it shot into the air with an earsplitting scream. An explosion of color lit up the sky above Valmar with a loud _BOOM_, white light dripping down in its wake like melting stars.

"Let me try! Let me try!" Irmo begged. Tulkas offered him the torch, but as the firework took air, it veered off course and struck the roof of a nearby building. The wooden beams caught fire and an explosion propelled flames and shattered glass across the courtyard.

Irmo and Tulkas froze. "That is not good," Tulkas said, his eyes so wide they reflected the burning building.

At once, the Maiar working inside rushed out and doused the fire with gallons of water, until only a smoking husk of a roof remained. The two Valar faded into the shadows, hoping not to be seen.

"It was, uh, fun while it lasted," Tulkas said, snorting back laughter.

"Where to now, my friend?" Irmo asked him.

"Wherever the road chooses to take us!"

They hobbled arm in arm along the path leading east of Valmar, singing a song at the top of their lungs. Taniquetil's white peak appeared, glowing beneath the stars. The walls of its highest tower radiated a bright light that lit up the snowy mountains behind it.

Tulkas's tone became serious. "Irmo, I want you to meet a very good friend of mine."

"He lives _here?_" Irmo wondered, gazing at the tower in astonishment.

"I shall bring you to see him!"

Upon reaching the highest story of the tower, they met Eönwë before the doors of Manwë's throne room. He greeted the Valar with a bow and started to say, "Lord Manwë is quite busy at the moment, can it wait un-"

Tulkas brushed past him. "It's an emergency," he insisted.

Eönwë paled in the face and backed away, acquiescing. He entered the chamber alone, and a moment later the doors opened for the visitors.

They walked in, shielding their eyes from the harsh glare of light filtering through glass. Amidst the haze, Manwë stared ahead expectantly from his throne. "Lórien, Tulkas," he greeted, some surprise in his voice at seeing them together. "Eönwë told me you came in haste, claiming to have an emergency."

"We do," Tulkas said, and Irmo nodded his agreement. "Manwë, I would like you to meet my new friend, Irmo."

The lord of Taniquetil raised his eyebrows ever so slowly, the drunkenness of the two Valar now quite apparent to him. He smiled politely at them both and answered, clearly just to humor them: "Yes, I believe we have met before."

Irmo and Tulkas glanced at the other in shock.

"You knew Manwë?" Tulkas slurred. "And he never thought to introduce us?"

Manwë closed his eyes, took a deep breath, opened them again. "Both of you are… all right, though? No other emergency?"

"I'm great," Irmo insisted. "How about you, Tulkas?"

"I'm…fantastic," the Vala admitted. "I haven't felt this good since…since… since Nessa left to visit Oromë." His eyes became wet and his voice emotional. Irmo took the Vala into his arms and patted his back reassuringly.

"You are strong," Irmo told him, squeezing his shoulders and looking into his face with glazed eyes. "You are the strongest person I know, Tulkas."

"Do you mean that?"

"I really mean it."

Tulkas's head slumped a little, resting now on the other Vala's chest. "Hey, Irmo? Can I tell you something?" he murmured.

"You can tell me _anything_."

"I'm not feeling so great right now."

The Vala of Dreams puckered his mouth like it tasted sour. "Me neither."

Suddenly Manwë panicked, and he raised his voice to shout for his attendants. Dozens of servants came pouring into the chamber carrying buckets and trays, sliding on the ground to avoid the waves of vomit raining down from the two intoxicated Valar. They held Irmo and Tulkas by the shoulders and placed their heads over a bucket to prevent them desecrating the polished floor.

Manwë let out a sigh of relief.

* * *

Hundreds of tiny, sharp swords stabbed Irmo in the head. His mouth was so dry that he felt an entire sea of water could not quench his thirst. Even the dim light behind his eyelids was too bright, and the low murmur of distant voices too loud. All he wanted was darkness and silence.

Someone placed a wet cloth against his flushed skin. Irmo stirred from his sleep and sat up, blinking to clear his blurry vision. He saw a figure bent at his bedside, beside a pot of boiling water and herbs. Her hazel eyes met Irmo's gray, bloodshot ones, and she was smiling in amusement.

"Estë? Is that you?" he asked groggily.

She ground the herbs into a paste and rubbed the ointment onto the cloth, dabbing it on her husband's forehead. "I must say, Irmo, it seems you had a much better time than you planned."

"What are you talking about? What happened?"

"Well…" She bit her lip to hide another smile. "Where should I begin? Oromë is expecting compensation for the damage to his pastures. Yavanna is missing _several _birds from her aviaries. The Noldor are quite sore about some bets that involved them losing their valuables, and Aulë must devote the next few weeks to various repairs throughout Valmar. Oh, and Manwë spent all this morning cleaning the mess off his floors."

"And what does all this have to do with me?" he wondered.

"I received these and many other complaints not long after your unconscious body was delivered at my door."

"Wait… you mean _I_ did those things?! Why would I, Estë?" Irmo asked in horror.

"You don't remember anything?"

"No, I…" Irmo rubbed his head, which started throbbing as he tried to recall the night prior. "I just remember Tulkas being here, and you refusing to make an excuse for me…"

"Now I certainly will!" she cried out with laughter. "You and Tulkas are hereby forbidden to co-mingle!"


	3. Of the Lamps

**These next two chapters both relate to the Lamps, but according to different accounts. The first is from the Book of Lost Tales I, The Coming of the Valar (yes more of Tolkien's early writings, sorry not sorry :) there is too much there not to have fun with!) and the second will be more Silmarillion-based.**

_"That one of the North he named Ringil and of the South Helkar…"_

_-The Book of Lost Tales I, The Coming of the Valar_

Eönwë stood guard at the gates of Almaren, in between the secluded isle and a world slumbering in darkness. Occasionally a bright flash of flame or a spark of red lava glowed in the smoking charcoal skies.

The Maia squinted into the shadowy distance as a large shape drew near. He made out a gleaming iron crown, pitch-black robes, a pale white face – Melkor. The Vala rode a hairy, eight-legged creature with multiple sets of beady eyes and sharp, clicking fangs. A crowd of Maiar studied the dark Vala and his abomination with intense interest, but the herald only felt repulsed.

Melkor halted just before him, peering down with a smile that seemed more gloating than friendly.

Eönwë greeted the Vala reluctantly. "Lord Melkor." He stared back at the twelve reflections of himself in the eyes of the beast."What is _that?_"

"_She_ is Ungoliant, the most beautiful creature in all of Arda," the Vala answered.

"Only you could come up with a creation so hideous…" he muttered between his teeth. Then, louder so Melkor could hear, he asked, "What is the reason you have come? There is no meeting planned – not that you have ever attended."

"Just paying a visit to dear friends," he said charmingly, giving no heed to Eönwë and entering the city with his foul steed. The sound of its eight talons tapping on the polished street made the herald's hairs stand on end.

Melkor's eyes greedily took in the sights of their dwelling places, lingering on the gilded stone buildings, absorbing the luxurious gardens and courtyards. "Where is my brother, Manwë?"

Eönwë made sure to stay at his side. "He is occupied with an important matter, I'm afraid."

"An important matter, hmm? Perhaps I can assist."

"I can't imagine that being necessary."

"We must not make such hasty assumptions, Eönwë, especially someone in your position," Melkor chided the herald. "Let us first ask Manwë if he has want of my aid."

Eönwë bit his tongue to withhold any argument. He begrudgingly sent an inquiry to Manwë, and he and Melkor waited in the pleasant courtyard of Manwë's house for a response, listening to the birdsong and looking anywhere but at each other. When eye contact became unavoidable, Melkor smiled politely at the herald. Eönwë almost wished the Vala would cease such falsity and be hostile instead.

Of course, Manwë agreed with the request, all too eager to include Melkor in the plans of the Valar rather than exclude him. Eönwë did not try to stifle his sigh of disappointment when the message landed in his hands.

"You may assist," he grumbled.

"Excellent. Where can I stow my spider for the time being?" Melkor asked Eönwë, not passing up the opportunity to let his gaze sweep across the fair isle once more.

The herald grimaced. "At the stables, I suppose."

Eönwë led the way to Aulë's workshops. Melkor lingered some distance behind him on foot, standing tall with his arms folded neatly at his back, appearing much nobler than the Maia knew him to be. They followed the smoke issuing from open forges to a partial outdoor court, where they found Aulë laboring away at his workbench. Tongs of all sizes and shapes decorated the industrial-style walls, and the hammers of his Maiar hung on a steel rack stretching the entire perimeter.

"Well met, Aulë," the herald greeted.

"Eönwë! Well met!" The smith's deep voice bellowed from the dim interior of the workshop. He paused his fervent hammering when he noticed Melkor trailing after the herald, and the smile faded from his bearded face. "Oh, Melkor. What can I do for you?"

Eönwë offered an apologetic gesture. He kept a watchful eye on the dark Vala as the latter wandered the forges, poking and prodding everything he stumbled upon. "Lord Manwë requests that we might allot a part of the work to Lord Melkor."

Aulë hesitated. He set his hammer off to the side and brushed a sweaty hand through his red hair, staring at the tempered metal sheet with his eyebrows furrowed. The master smith was soon joined by a Maia in a blacksmith's apron come from the posterior yard to assist him.

"Mairon," the smith called to his apprentice. "Melkor has offered us his aid in building the lamps."

The Maiarin craftsman glanced briefly at Melkor before turning again to Aulë. "Ah… well, I don't think there is much he can help with," he said quietly, but not quietly enough.

Melkor frowned, curling one side of his mouth in a scowl.

Aulë snapped his fingers as an idea occurred to the master craftsman. "Melkor, are you not skilled in fire and ice? We may be able to use your abilities, after all. You can keep our furnaces hot while we forge the necessary materials, and then cool the items to a strong hardness. It would save us much effort in the long run."

The Vala raised his eyebrows at the demeaning suggestion. "I think I can do a little more than that, Aulë," he replied, and Mairon looked at him curiously.

He paced along the row of furnaces, subtly planning alone in his thoughts with only the semblance of contributing. "I can supply the perfect material with which to create the Lamps. You see, I am in possession of a very durable substance."

"Really? What substance is this?" Aulë wondered.

"It is not known to you, Aulë. No offense. It is of my own thought and making."

The smith crossed his arms as he considered, the biceps bulging against his fine linen tunic. "Fair enough. Can I at least get a glimpse of this rare substance?"

"Again… no. I must procure it from my lands in the north. That will take some time, and I don't want to hold up your efforts here…"

Aule regarded him with no small amount of distrust in his eyes. "Very well, Melkor. Procure the substance and supply us with enough to build two lamps to light Arda. _And_," he added with a stern glare, "no trickery of any kind!"

"When have I ever let you down, Aulë?" the Vala inquired innocently.

"I don't want to have to answer that," he said once Melkor left the forges and he was alone with his Maiar.

The herald of the Valar accompanied Melkor to the stables to retrieve Ungoliant, and he felt a wave of relief when the Vala departed Almaren for the shadows of the untamed lands. Not least was his gladness at the disappearance of the spider. He still saw its eyes leering at him with some strange lust, and his body tingled like its hairy legs crawled upon him.

"Are you quite all right, Lord Eönwë?" asked a stable hand raking out the stalls. "You're shaking."

"Yes, I'm quite all right," he asserted, hurrying up the steps to the courtyard, but he kept on trembling regardless.

* * *

A sleek black raven awaited Melkor with mail when he returned to the gates of Utumno. He unrolled the parchment between its talons and read the letter, allowing a pleased smile to leer over his face. The bird dipped its feathery head in a bow before taking off, the Vala overseeing its flight back to Almaren.

He entered the dark stronghold, still in an early phase of construction. The Vala's thundering footsteps bounced off the lofty ceiling and echoed far off in deep subterranean vaults. Gothmog, captain of the hosts, presided in the dismal cavern at the front, seated on an imposing chair carved with monstrous faces in bas-relief.

"Your lord is a cunning genius," he told the Balrog as soon as he came in.

Intrigued, Gothmog pursued his master further into the mountain passages. "What have you done?"

Melkor's voice seeped into the foundations of the fortress and filled the vacant spaces at its highest reaches, so although Gothmog could not see the Vala in the encompassing darkness, he could hear him whichever way he turned. "The Valar plan to construct two lamps upon my land to dispel the darkness. I offered them my aid in the pointless endeavor, and in their blind arrogance they agreed. I tricked Aulë into believing I possessed a substance stronger than any yet known, when really I intend to use ice! The lamps shall melt the moment they are lit, flooding the perfect little isle and all its inhabitants, providing us the opportunity to launch an attack."

Gothmog's smile grew as he listened to the insidious plot. "A genius plan, my lord."

"As I just said. They are all too easy to fool."

"What happens if the Valar grow suspicious?"

"That will not come to pass," he assured the captain. "My spies among the Maiar will ensure Manwë remains oblivious." Melkor pulled open the doors at the rear of the fortress, letting in stinging flurries of snow. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must retrieve enough tons of ice to build two lamps. Prepare our armies, Gothmog. It won't be long now."

Northern Arda was certainly not lacking in the resource. The Vala climbed the mountains of Dor Daidelos and hewed off great sheets of ice from the glaciers, carrying the weight on both shoulders down to his smiths in their cold underground forges. They clad the ice in a compelling disguise, making it appear metallic on the surface to conceal the true nature of the substance.

He attached the ice blocks to Ungoliant's bulbous girth. Then he rode back to Almaren with the giant spider dragging the load behind her in the snow like a gruesome sled. The Vala could hardly contain the malicious glee bubbling inside his black heart.

Ungoliant he commanded to wait outside and meet him back at the fortress, but he trusted not the cheeky response she gave him, and he was certain she strayed another path instead, but his concerns lay elsewhere for now. Besides, he already knew her to be unfaithful - he had seen the way she ogled Eönwë.

The second he arrived at Aulë's workshops, he was surrounded by a great number of his Maiar and promptly enclosed in a tight circle. Before Melkor even had a chance to react, the craftsmen blocked off his escape, standing shoulder to shoulder with their backs to him.

"We have orders to guard you until Aulë can assess the contents of your delivery," they explained.

Melkor panicked, thinking himself caught. "I've done nothing wrong," he insisted. "If you keep me confined here like a prisoner any longer, I am complaining to Manwë."

"What's making him care?" one of the Maiar snapped.

The Vala glowered sourly in his direction until the arrival of Aulë with his workmen. The head smith approached the chunks of ice and tested the substance, measured the height and weight, tapped on the surface to determine whether it was solid enough to support the Lamps.

"It is rather cold," Aulë noted.

Melkor smiled good-naturedly. "Does that surprise you? I'm sure you'll recall I specialize in heat and cold, my good smith."

Aulë appeared unsure, but he cast his doubts aside. "Very well." He gave the OK to his builders and two teams came forth to take hold of each end of the "metal" pillars, carrying them from the workshops to their intended locations at the northern and southernmost plains of Arda.

Melkor oversaw the journey with eager anticipation, but he altered his expression whenever Aulë shifted his attention to the other Vala. The latter's smirk then vanished, and he instantly became serious and more composed.

"It is pleasing to me that I can finally assist the Valar," he told the smith, as the two crossed the enormous silver bridge connecting Almaren to the greater lands. The Maiarin workmen walked on ahead, and the many feet created a loud clamor on the stone walkway. "I know we have our differences… At least now in our mutual love for Arda we can put them behind us."

Aulë harrumphed. "We'll see."

"I've actually been meaning to congratulate you, Aulë."

"On what?" he asked impatiently.

"Well…" The Vala's dark eyes darted around secretively, and he lowered his voice. "Everyone has been talking a great deal about the children you created in your image. A very bold move, I might say. I sure hope Eru wasn't offended…"

Aulë's face turned a shade of crimson, but he brushed off the provocative comment. "Right now is not the time, Melkor."

"As you wish."

The northern Lamp was first on the Valar's agenda. Already a mound had been raised in the vast plain beneath Utumno to accommodate it, and Melkor felt anger at such an insult, despite his plan for vengeance.

"You may do the honors," Aulë told Mairon, motioning to the metal bases they had forged specifically for the Lamps. The Maia untied one from the cart and lifted the heavy slab in his arms without the need for assistance. He started to carry it towards the mound until he discovered Melkor standing in his way, for the Vala was unsure where he was supposed to be.

"Pardon me," he said to the Vala, who mumbled an apology and moved aside. Mairon knelt to set the Lamp's base, carefully holding the metal rim until it ceased wobbling and rested firmly in the soil. His task successful, he backed away to rejoin the group, and his fellow crafters pat his shoulder to commend him.

The rest of the Maiar then heaved the icy tower into position on top of the base, and once it was sturdy and made straight, Aulë placed a glittering silver lamp in the curved receptacle at its utmost point.

Upon completion, the first team remained behind with the northern Lamp, while Melkor, Aulë, and the second team retraced their journey, continuing south across another bridge outlaid in gold. There on a lower plain the process repeated, with the base set upon the mound and the tower upon the base, but this time Aulë lay a golden lamp atop the pinnacle instead of silver.

Melkor sat in the dark grass and idly plucked the blades while he waited for Aulë and his Maiar to stop oohing and aweing over the finished result. Although he could not deny that his towers of ice were impressive and expertly fashioned by Utumno's own craftsmen, the most stunning part of all was still to come.

Aulë finally walked away from the tower to hover over the Vala, slouched so he remained eye-level with the smith's metal greaves.

"I'll grant you this privilege, Melkor," Aulë told him. "You may name the Lamps, since you have so generously helped in their creation."

The suggestion caught Melkor off guard. "Alright… um… Helkar for the southern light, since it is cold, and Ringil for the northern, since it is also cold."

There was laughter in Aulë's eyes. "Very creative."

"Clearly, it is not often I get to name things!" Melkor shot back, scowling.

"Clearly," Aulë chuckled.

_Ringil and Helkar_, he thought proudly. _Helkar and Ringil_. It was too bad they were about to be destroyed. He liked having the power to name things, to think of them as _his_…

He felt a strange sensation. Looking to his left, he realized Aulë was…smiling at him. Fondly. Not falsely. Melkor averted his gaze, suddenly uncomfortable.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Melkor announced loud and impatiently, casting a mischievous smile at his Maiar within the crowd of workmen. "Light the Lamps!"


	4. A Wedding and Two Funerals

_"Now therefore the Valar were gathered upon Almaren, fearing no evil, and because of the light of Illuin they did not perceive the shadow in the north…"_

_-The Silmarillion, Of the Beginning of Days_

"Nessa, are you sure you want to marry Tulkas?"

"Of course I am! Why do you ask?"

Across from the meadow where the maidens reclined, Tulkas shouted, "Watch this!" Seconds later, wooden beams splintered as the Vala's bronze-clad fist smashed clear through the wall of Oromë's hunting lodge.

Vána smiled. "No reason." She strung a delicate floral crown through her sister-in-law's curly tresses and smoothed the plaited sleeves of her white dress. "Manwë has called for a great banquet in honor of Arda's first spring. I must say I'm looking forward to it. I cannot recall when we last spent our time leisurely instead of preparing for sudden assault."

Oromë and Tulkas left the lodge and strolled into the meadow, carrying pints of ale.

"I do hope Melkor doesn't return," Nessa said sadly. "Not when Yavanna's seeds have just begun to germinate, and the flowers are yet to blossom…"

"Do not speak that foul name with those pretty lips," Tulkas interrupted. He offered his hand to Nessa, and the maiden gratefully took it, allowing the Vala to lift her on her bare feet. "I have chased the enemy into hiding, and he shall never bother us again. If he does, he must have acquired a twisted taste for beatings."

"I'd like to see it again!" Oromë laughed, taking a drink of his ale. "Melkor running off with his tail tucked between his legs - that image shall never leave my memory!"

Vána stood and brushed clovers off her skirts. "Come, my husband," she invited, tucking her arm into his. "I wish to go to the Great Hall and help Varda's maidens decorate for the event."

"I will help too!" Nessa announced, tugging on Tulkas's hand to follow Vána. She was oft desirous to stick close by her brother's wife.

"Nessa, you need not have to," Vána said, shaking her head with a tired fondness. "This feast also celebrates your marriage to Tulkas."

The Valië stubbornly stuck out her chin. "That does not mean I cannot help! Perhaps I could pass out drinks?"

Oromë jabbed Tulkas in the shoulder. "I hope you recognize the good fortune bestowed upon you in wedding my sister!" he jested.

* * *

Being so engaged in preparation for the festivities, none of the Valar noticed a raven fly over the colorful party streamers and keep east, save one keen-eyed of the Maiar. He observed the path of the bird and stole away from the upcoming revelry, tracking it on the ground. The Maia submerged himself in the dense layer of shadow cast by its wings as he climbed a trail winding into distant foothills overlooking Almaren's endless gold meadows.

When the blackbird alighted on a rattling branch, uttering foreboding caws, the Maia opened the door of the nearest stone-and-mortar dwelling and went in. The room was drafty and scarcely furnished, empty except for a lone figure in front of the mantle, stoking the flames. He could only see the back of his head, but he recognized the black hair falling against an equally dark cloak.

"You summoned me, my lord?" the Maia called to the hunched figure, who appeared in lowly disguise as a humble hermit.

The Vala slowly turned, revealing the most hated face in Eä. "Yes." He looked his servant up-and-down, examining the diadem gracing his forehead and his silken tunic. "I apologize. Were you planning on attending the festival?"

Mairon ignored his sarcasm. "How do you fare? I am glad to see you return. Do I speak right to assume the news I've related during your absence is part of the reason?" At this, he smiled smugly, pleased with his own share in the strategem. "Is it true you're raising a fortress in the north?"

His lord waited impatiently until he was finished. "Many questions you ask of me, but I haven't time to answer them all. I will strike soon, now that naïve Manwë and that oaf Tulkas have foolishly let down their guard. I thought I'd warn you, in case you mean to escape during the chaos and join me at my fortress, Utumno."

The Maia's initial surprise swiftly dissipated, flickering across half his face to vanish before reaching the other. He gave a firm nod. "I will meet you there," he promised.

"Good. You have been the greatest of my spies, and your reward awaits in the north. Now go, attend the spring celebration and make the most of what gaiety is left. My armies shall soon plunge these lands back into shadow."

Mairon dutifully obeyed. He left the front door ajar behind him, giving the Vala a partial view of the Lamps glaring from the north and south of Almaren.

Melkor allowed himself a final glance at Illuin and Ormal, smiling almost nostalgically at the two towers, Helcar and Ringol. He walked out to the porch and took a deep breath of fresh air, as if he only planned on a leisurely stroll. But the Vala betrayed his ill intentions when he drew his hood and lowered his head to conceal his face, passing through the isle of Almaren for the last time on the way to the forces awaiting his command.

* * *

The Ainur gathered for the Springtime festival in Almaren's most fertile meadow. Rich green grass sprouted there, nourished by the combined light of the Lamps. Aulë and Oromë flanked Tulkas on his right and left, while Yavanna and Vána attended Nessa, and the featured Vala and Valië linked hands. Manwë presided a step above, on marble stairs that spiraled down from the entrance of the Great Hall like a white nautilus shell. He was approaching the end of his wedding speech.

"It is the simplest things that bring true happiness," Manwë reminded his audience. "I see them here today." He smiled upon Tulkas and Nessa. "Love," the Vala said first. He let his gaze turn to a pair of Maiar. One had chosen to wear a yellow tunic to the festival, and he was pursued by honeybees as a result. He ducked to avoid their advances while the fellow's companion had his mouth covered, suppressing his amusement. "Laughter between friends."

Lastly, Manwë's blue eyes fell upon Ilmarë and Eönwë. The former was teaching the latter a dance step, and Eönwë watched her carefully, copying Ilmarë's movements as she spun in a circle and moved three paces to the right. "Merrymaking with the ones we care for. Darkness cannot touch these three things."

Manwë glanced down at his clasped hands and smiled. "Now, I will do every one of you a favor and cease talking, so the actual _enjoyment_ can begin."

The crowd laughed as they applauded Manwë's speech. The green vale cleared so Nessa and her maidens could dance upon it, and a line of male dancers took turns pairing up with the maidens. Pipers and lyrists sat beneath a grassy hill and filled the clearing with sweet music. The tall stalks in the field had just been threshed, and while the harvest was heaped on platters in the Great Hall, the ripe aroma lingered on the breeze. Warm gusts of wind blew in between the trees, stirring the tender shoots of leaves on growing shrubbery and releasing clouds of pollen.

"Manwë!" Nessa called, holding out her slender arms to the lord of Arda before he could depart for the Hall. "Dance with me!"

The Vala bowed before her, making Nessa blush. "It would be my honor." He gently took her hands and gracefully twirled the Valië as they skipped down the field of dancers, surrounded by clapping spectators.

Meanwhile, Tulkas and Oromë sat at a table and challenged the other to a drinking contest. Each Vala lined up fifteen mugs of ale at his setting, but at the last moment Tulkas slipped in three extra cups to his portion. By the time the last mug was drained, the two Valar lay passed out in the grass, snoring happily in a liquor-induced slumber.

Illuin and Ormal illuminated the green isle and its inhabitants, enhancing the beauty of the festival. Such was the intensity of the lights, and the joy of the Valar in their midst, that the shadow rolling in from the north went unnoticed. Jagged bolts of lightning struck the tips of mountains and heavy fog descended, bringing with it the first storm of spring and the beginning of Arda Marred.


End file.
